


Waxing and Whining

by c0cunt



Series: c0cunt's minifics [36]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Relationship insecurity, Tumblr Prompt, med student Marco, sock skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6920602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0cunt/pseuds/c0cunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean decides to wax their apartment's floors while Marco completes a few hours for his residency requirement.<br/>Prompt:  Sock skating on a newly waxed floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waxing and Whining

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hybridkitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybridkitsune/gifts).



> So, this was definitely supposed to be shorter. Idk what the hell happened.  
> Warning here for a bunch of relationship anxiety and feeling inferior to one's partner, didn't know how to tag that shit.

  Jean fuckin _deserved_ this, after spending several hours just trying to figure out how to wax the floor properly.  He’d only lived in places with carpet (and never spoke about the three years he had lived at his aunt’s house, which supposedly had hardwood floors, but seeing as that house was condemned just hours after she passed…), so he’d spent two hours on his day off hunting up advice on how to do so online.  He was going to surprise Marco when he came home from work, who had mumbled unintelligibly about how the floors should be waxed sometime soon two days ago.  But...Jean couldn’t resist.  Sliding around on freshly waxed floors was apparently _amazing_ or something, and since he had the chance…

  First though, he was going to change out of his dirty clothes, that had gotten floor polish all over them.  He may or may not have lifted the jug of floor polish and underestimated how heavy it was, and splashed it all over his pants...But he’d cleaned that mess right up!  And anyways, he’d been wearing one of his old pairs of jeans that had been worn until the thighs were threadbare, so it’s not like he’d fucked up while wearing a new pair of pants.  At least the old shirt that he’d thrown on, one of Marco’s insanely old Jinae High School Wrestling Team shirts probably from his freshman year, hadn’t gotten wet.  As old as they were, Jean would’ve probably pitched a fit at himself if he’d ruined that.  So Jean just threw his pants into the garbage, instead of wasting time and money on washing them (and forgoing replacing them, content to bounce around in his briefs), as he contemplated how to go about sliding on the floor.

  Like, there wasn’t really a tutorial he could look up on how to skate in his socks.  Well, there possibly was, but Jean wasn’t about to embarrass himself even more by filling up his search history with “how to skate with socks on a waxed floor”.  He’d already embarrassed himself enough by having to look up how to wax a goddamn floor.  He could’ve probably asked Marco, but just the thought of having to ask something that seemed so obvious after he’d figured it out would’ve made him feel stupid.  As if Jean didn’t already feel stupid when compared to Marco, who somehow carried straight A’s throughout high school and his pre-med degree, and even now seemed to easily handle getting his residency hours _and_ the classes he had to juggle.  So even just doing this little thing for their apartment was the least that Jean could do on his day off.  Plus, even he deserved to have a little bit of fun as a reward for getting shit done.

  Feeling much more confident in his reasoning, Jean tugged on his favorite pair of socks with grim determination that was probably more suited for getting ready for battle than going to slide around on the floor.  They weren’t one of his many pairs with grip pads along the bottom, but the first pair of socks he’d successfully knitted when he was starting out with that hobby.  After almost a year of wear, they were now really stretched at the top, but Jean was still really proud of his handiwork.  He padded over the carpet in the bedroom, to gaze out to the hallway that led to the living room with trepidation.  He wasn’t exactly sure how slippery the floor would be now, as he gripped the door jam and took a careful step forward onto the newly waxed floor.  

  When he didn’t immediately slip, fall, and break his ass, Jean took a few more cautious steps forward.  Quickly reaching the end of the hallway, and with only one wall to cling to, Jean experimentally started to slide his feet.  So far so good, he thought confidently, letting go of the wall and putting a bit more force behind his next slide attempt.  He yelped as he slid a bit further than he had expected to, scrambling against the wall in an attempt to keep himself standing.  It didn’t work, and he bounced painfully to the floor with a wince (there would definitely be a bruise on his ass later).  Maybe he should’ve attempted to move the furniture back into the room before starting to slide around...Well, too late now, Jean thought as he struggled to his feet, wobbling like a newborn lamb as he headed for the nearest doorway to hold onto.  But he was determined to figure out the appeal of sliding on a waxed floor, even if it meant more bruising than when he’d tried out for the football team back in middle school.  With that, Jean took a deep breath and pushed off of the hall doorway.

  


* * *

  


  All Marco wanted to do, after covering for Armin (who was sick) with their supervisors, was take a shower hot enough to burn the scent of disinfectant and sickness out of his skin, and sleep for three years.  He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since getting his degree, and residency hours were kicking his ass into the next decade.  The circles underneath his eyes, that he’d stupidly hoped would disappear after getting his pre-med diploma, had only grown worse, and it felt like every force in the universe was determined to keep him away from his boyfriend.  Marco was more than devastated by how little time was left in a day, after juggling classes, residency hours, and sleep, that the only time he could really interact with Jean was by sneaking off texts throughout the day, and maybe forcing himself to stay awake long enough to at least say “hi, I missed you today” when Jean came home after his evening classes or a late shift at work.  It was nowhere near enough, in Marco’s opinion, and he had a constant gnawing fear in the back of his head that Jean would realize he deserved more than Marco could currently give, and leave him for someone who had time and could afford things like fancy dates and other things that Jean deserved.

  “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”  Bertholdt asked quietly, nudging Marco’s knee with his own as their bus trundled along, slowing down for the next stop.  Marco let out a noncommittal noise, staring straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of them, causing Bertholdt to sigh tiredly.  They were good friends, having spent the majority of their undergrad programs sharing notes and classes together, but talking about their relationships with their partners usually didn’t end that well.  Both of them knew the other’s tendency of getting stuck in their heads about how they thought their relationships _should_ be, (with Bertholdt constantly worrying that he wasn’t outgoing enough for Reiner, and Marco’s worries about not being able to give Jean the things he deserved) and they always felt they had to knock the other out of their head when it was obvious they were stuck.  Marco was usually more resistant to Bertholdt’s attempts, and it was definitely proof of how good Bertholdt was that he was usually able to get Marco thinking straight again quickly.  But even the best couldn’t work miracles.

  “Normally I’d lecture the shit out of you, but this is your stop and I don’t think my legs could handle walking another mile to my place,” Bertholdt yawned out his words, muffling them with his hand as Marco stumbled out of his seat as the bus halted and opened its doors.  The bus driver gave Marco a concerned look when he tripped over his own feet as he started down the stairs, but Marco just laughed, glad for his grip on the railing as he slid off of the step he had landed on and stumbled out.  Bertholdt had watched the whole escapade from his seat, and as the bus pulled away he shook his head at Marco, who was already wobbling on his way down the block in the direction of his apartment building.

  It was a great relief for Marco to finally trudge up the building’s front steps, since that meant only one flight of stairs left and then he’d be practically home.  There was a small group of older ladies gossiping near the doors (probably waiting for Mrs. Zacharius from apartment 209, who was as scatterbrained as a pigeon, if Marco remembered correctly), one of which he recognized immediately as Ms. Brzenska from the apartment next to his own.  Her normal blank look was replaced by a soft frown when she saw Marco, waving him over quickly for a second.

  “I heard a lot of noise coming from your place just before I left.  Tell that boy of yours to keep it down,” She said flatly, which made Ms. Ral and Mx. Zoe exchange a look of utter delight at the potential new gossip.  Marco smiled thinly and mumbled something vaguely affirmative as he shuffled away to the staircase, but didn’t think much on it.  Today was Jean’s day off, and he tended to blast his music when Marco wasn’t home, so it was to be expected honestly.  What wasn’t expected, when Marco had finally opened their apartment door, was to see Jean red-faced and laughing as he slid around the living room in his underwear and an old shirt.

  “...Am I interrupting something?”  Marco asked, equal parts amused and confused.  Jean’s head whipped in the direction of where he was standing, unable to stop the slide he had just started, pinwheeling his arms to create some sort of drag and _not_ fall.  The falling happened anyways, but Jean caught his weight on his arms, though he looked extremely flustered.

  “Marco!  I...How long have you been standing there?”  Jean struggled to attempt to stand up, and Marco would’ve stepped over to help if he hadn’t shouted “Wait!”  So there Marco stood, one foot half poised in the air to take a step, as Jean scooted across the floor on his ass towards Marco.  Which was, quite frankly, the funniest thing that Marco had seen in the past three days, and only the fierce scowl on Jean’s face prevented him from falling over with laughter.

  “I waxed the floor,” Jean mumbled, his voice tinged slightly with pride, “And it’s a bit, uh, slippery.”  As if to prove his words, Jean’s hands slipped out from where he had been leaning against them, and he rocked backwards a tiny bit before stabilizing himself.  Marco slowly put his foot back down on the floor, and stared dumbfoundedly at their empty living room, then looked back at Jean, then the room at large.  Jean chewed on his lip anxiously as Marco dropped his book bag and carefully stepped into the room, closing and locking the door behind him.  He slipped his shoes off before crouching down to kiss the top of Jean’s head, and carefully slid his way down the hallway to their bedroom.

  “Don’t make too much noise, I’m going to take a nap okay?”  Marco called over his shoulder, shooting Jean a pleading look.  Jean nodded dumbly at him as he disappeared further down the hall to the bedroom, already feeling bad that he hadn’t gotten their living room put back together properly.  Why hadn’t he _thought_ before acting like a little kid?  Jean struggled to his feet once more, listening to their bedsprings scream as Marco apparently dropped onto the bed like a leaded weight, before sighing and starting to quietly return their furniture to the proper locations.

 

* * *

  


  Marco felt like a truck had run him over when he finally blinked awake, nose twitching as he registered the smell of something meaty cooking.  Which, honestly, being hit by a truck probably felt better than he had been feeling earlier.  He could still smell sickness and antiseptic on his clothes, and he felt terrible for getting that smell probably stuck into their sheets.  So logically that meant that Marco had to strip the sheets from their bed, and then take a fast, boiling hot shower, before going to investigate the source of the cooking meat smell in the air.  He almost missed the bright blue sticky note on one of Jean’s many pairs of grip-lined socks, but seeing as it was on top of their dresser and more on Marco’s side of it...Marco squinted at the little sticky note until his eyes focused on the words, his concentrated frown turning into a soft smile as he read the little note.

 

_Floor is still very slippery in the living room/kitchen/hall.  Figured you’d want a pair of socks to keep from slipping and dying._

 

  Marco vaguely remembered Jean having slipped when he came home from the hospital earlier, so he definitely (and appreciatively) took the note’s advice and slipped the socks on, before snagging a pair of blue boxer briefs and shimmying into them.  Followed by a pair of pyjama pants with smiley faces on them, and forgoing a shirt, Marco followed his nose out into the hall slowly.  He stared at the living room, which had been refilled with their furniture while he was napping apparently, but didn’t see Jean anywhere.  He wasn’t even in the kitchen when Marco checked the oven, with what appeared to be a meatloaf baking.  Marco probably would’ve eaten a rock if Jean had said he’d gotten it with him in mind, but the fact that Jean was a pretty good cook just made days where Marco was barely crawling through the front door much more delightful when there was delicious food that could be heated up in minutes.

  But without a trace of his boyfriend (not even a single dirty dish in the sink), Marco couldn’t help being anxious about where he’d gone off to.  Had Jean realized how much better he was and decided to run off and leave a meatloaf?  No, that’s absurd; if Jean had decided to leave, he would’ve taken his socks with him.  Slightly comforted by his train of thought, Marco padded back towards the hallway, intent on checking the spare bedroom, when he heard a light snore coming from the couch.  Quickly redirecting his steps, Marco peered over the back of the couch, feeling his heart melt as he looked down at Jean, who had apparently fallen asleep after everything he’d done today.  The little pig shaped timer that Jean used started ringing, but Marco didn’t even acknowledge it, too intent on memorizing Jean’s sleeping face:  He didn’t get to see it all that often when sunlight was still pouring in from the windows in the kitchen, and he never wanted to forget what Jean looked like in this moment.  Even if Jean did figure out he could do so much better than Marco, at least he could look back on this one quiet moment.

  Marco leaned forward slightly so he could run a hand through Jean’s hair, admiring how soft it was.  Even though they now used the same hair products for a while(when Jean had suddenly switched to the same brand that Marco used, after they had been living together for two months, it had made Marco’s stomach happily twist), Jean’s hair always felt much more soft compared to Marco’s.  Not wanting to wake Jean up, Marco went back into the kitchen to take care of the food, already wondering just how he could show his boyfriend just how _thankful_ he was for everything he did.


End file.
